


The Cave of the Golden Rose - a novel

by Booyoo



Category: Fantaghirò | The Cave of the Golden Rose (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fantaghirò persona bella
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26946100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Booyoo/pseuds/Booyoo
Summary: In a kingdom that has been at war for centuries, Fantaghiro, daughter of the king from the Kingdom of Regalia, refuses to act like a proper lady and dreams of epic battles against the enemy kingdom of Pavria. And for headstrong Fantaghiro, when there is a will, there is a way...This is a "novel" version of the movie "The Cave of the Golden Rose". General plot is the same, but OC to be expected.
Relationships: Fantaghirò/Romualdo (Fantaghirò)
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

Once upon a time, in a world not much unlike the ones of our own legends, were two kingdoms: Regalia and Pavria.

Those two kingdoms were at war, and had been for centuries. Generations of kings had campaigned against each other in strenuous battles that had ravaged the border lands and famished the poorest.

The reason for such a war had long been forgotten by the people of Regalia and Pavria, and— time being what we know—what was born from a simple trifle over a very beautiful princess from a neighbouring kingdom became certitude that the rival monarch wanted no less than ruin and enslave the people of the other.

The current king of Regalia, like his father had been before him, was convinced that he was upholding order and justice.

Yes _,_ he had to take as many able hands as he could, depleting his countryside from good farmers and sending them to a probable death—but at least they would protect their wives and children from those barbarous Pavrian, right?

Yes _,_ those women and children would have less food on their table, but what was it compared to being ruthlessly raped and slaughtered by monsters?

With all those good intentions in his heart, our king fought and fought, making it a point of honour to always be in the vanguard, thus risking his life alongside the lowest of birth.

But as the years passed, the king became tired, his legs less swift, his aim less true. It would not be long before his body failed him, and when it did, he would need an heir to defend the lives of his people.

His firstborn, Assuntina, had come into this world on the first year of his marriage, him being already thirty-eight years of age while his queen had been a mere twenty-five. The king then had great hope about his wife’s fertility, but the second child, also a daughter, had come three years later.

Five years after the birth of Carolina, when the king had lost all hope of producing an heir, his wife had become pregnant with their third child, and it being blind faith, or simply desperation, the king was absolutely certain that this time, he would have a son.

The queen’s labour had been going on for days.

On the night of the seventh day, the king had become crazy with impatience and worry.

“Why is it so slow?” he barked to his soothsayer. “How long must I wait? How long for me to meet my son and heir, for my wife to rest?”

“Not much more,” said the old man, throwing his stones around on the floor, “your son is coming this very night.”

“He better do, or you will taste my sword, you charlatan!”

The soothsayer, used to being threatened by his king, smiled at the words. “Do not worry my king. Your heir is about to come.”

The king grunted as a reply.

“Father,” cried out Carolina in all the innocence of a four-year old, holding the hand of her older sibling, “Is the baby stuck in Mother’s belly?”

“Shush, silly sister!” whispered Assuntina. “Father will scold you!”

Fortunately for little Carolina, her father did not notice her.

As he paced frenetically around his throne room next to anxious courtiers, a sudden gust of wind blew out all the candles, throwing the room into complete darkness except for a small ray of moonlight coming from an open window.

Before anyone could react, a ghostly light emerged from the high ceiling.

Mouths agape, courtiers were squealing and gasping as a beautiful woman materialised from the glow, floating down and landing gracefully in front of the king.

She was dressed all in white, gauzy strips of fabric scattering wildly all around her waist. Despite her apparent youth, she had long white hair so bright that it almost hurt the eye to look at it, and skin as pale as a white rose petal. Her face was completely devoid of colour, apart from her electric blue irises and pale pink lips.

“The White Witch!” the soothsayer blurted out before clasping his hand to his mouth, as if afraid to catch her attention. “I thought she was just a myth,” he whispered furiously to the king.

The legend of the White Witch was well known in Regalia. She was the queen of all the magical creatures of the land, benevolent by nature, but as whimsical as the weather.

The White Witch ignored the soothsayer, her eerie eyes still on the king, a cryptic smile on her lips.

She bowed to him slightly. Seeing that the king did not return the favour, her smile broadened. “I bowed to you as one monarch to another. But I see that the ways of courtesy are lost here.” 

The king, who was already in a foul mood from the lengthy labour of his wife, showed her indeed that the ways of courtesy were lost.

“How dare you come into my castle, blow out my candles and expect me to bow to you, woman?” he bellowed.

The White Witch put the tip of her hand over her mouth, feigning shock. “Oh my, someone is upset. But I had such excellent news to convey!” 

“What news?” asked the king. “Some plague on my good people? Locusts to destroy the crops? Be gone, woman, or you will be the end of me.”

“Never, my lord. I came with good tidings.”

“Out with it, then!” the king barked.

“I came to tell you of the birth of your daughter, of course,” said the Witch with a broad smile.

At those words, the king’s face went white with shock, then purple with rage.

“You evil slithering serpent!” the king choked with the words. “How dare you come to my castle, blow out my candles, expect me to bow to you and SPIT OUT SUCH LIES!!!”

“It is no lie, my lord,” said the White Witch, not the least bothered by the king’s harsh words. “Your beautiful daughter is about to be born.”

As if on cue, loud newborn cries echoed into the throne room.

The king smirked at the Witch. “Can you hear that, woman? Those loud, powerful cries? Undoubtedly, those are the cries of a boy. Ah, there he comes,” he added as servant maid came into the room, holding a crying baby in her arms. She stopped in front of the king and solemnly presented the bundle to him.

“Look at him, witch,” said the King smugly, “isn’t he handsome?” He turned towards his girls, who were huddled together as far away from the White Witch as possible. He beckoned them to come closer, which they did warily.

“Daughters,” said the king when they were close enough, “are you ready to meet your lord and master?” He unwrapped the blanket to reveal the proud male parts of his heir, but they turned out to be very much female.

“A little doll!” Carolina cried gleefully. 

The king hastily hid the baby back into its blanket, a painful look on his face. What was he going to do now? Would he have to wait another five years? So many things could happen in between.

Another maid rushing into the throne room pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Sire,” she said urgently, “the queen is unwell.”

The words sent a cold shiver down his spine.

Putting any regal pretence aside, the king rushed towards his wife’s chambers.

In front of the door stood the royal physician, a grave look on his face. The king did not dare come closer for fearing to hear terrible news. But he heard the words anyway. “Your Majesty, I’m afraid the queen doesn’t have much long.”

The king’s legs grew weak, the aftermath of shock coursing in his body. Never once in his life had his courage came this close to fail, not even when facing his enemy’s army.

He had been lucky, and he knew it. Few in his position could marry the one they loved, and he had loved his wife the moment they spoke.

He gingerly opened the door to the chambers and put on as straight a face as he could muster.

The queen looked deadly pale, a pool of blood almost imperceptibly widening on her bedsheets. When she saw him, she smiled weakly and opened her mouth as if to speak.

“Shh, my love,” the king said while stroking her hair, “you need to rest.”

She found the strength to tut, a habit she had when her husband spoke nonsense.

“Do not humour me, I know I will leave this world soon,” she said calmly. Then, her expression shifted, worry creasing her face. “Our son… how is our son?” she panted, urgency tainting her voice.

It took all the king’s willpower not to cry. “He is strong, healthy and already screams like his father.”

The queen’s face instantly relaxed, and she smiled once more. “Then my duty is done. I can go in peace.” She grimaced in sudden pain and gasped. The blood now almost gushed out of her body, the post-natal contractions bringing death closer by the minute. After a while, her body relaxed but her complexion was as pale as the White Witch’s.

“Will you tell me again of that time before our wedding, when the servants couldn’t find the priest?”

He chuckled and began to retell the story of how the priest had been found in the wine cave, completely drunk, and how the king—who was still a prince at that time—had been so angry that he had been chasing the poor clergyman in the corridors, sword spinning, shaming him and himself in the process. He was a hot-headed man, and his wife had been the ice to his fire.

The queen died before he could finish his story. As soon as her last breath left her, he let his grief out and wept. After his sorrow faded slightly, blind rage began to raise within him.

The king charged towards the throne room.

Assuntina was feeding the baby from a canteen, Carolina bouncing around her to have a closer look. The White Witch was nowhere to be seen.

“Give her to me!” roared the king, ripping the baby from his daughter’s arms.

Seeing the dreadful resolve on her father’s face, Assuntina—who was usually mild and circumspect—grasped the king’s robes. “Father, no!”

“Yes,” he replied, a delirious glint in his eyes. “She killed her mother. She is a pawn of that white serpent. So I swear by God that I shall sacrifice her at the altar of the Sacred Beast, lest my kingdom shall fall into ruin!”

Everyone gasped.

The Sacred Beast was a monster dwelling in the Cave of the Golden Rose, a grotto situated deep in the Mist Forest, which was White Witch’s lands.

The legends said that the Sacred Beast would lure people with a hypnotic melody, giving them the irresistible urge to go into the Cave. Once inside, no one came out alive. The Beast had a taste for women’s flesh but would kill any man who would come too close.

Its appearance was not set—some said it was a tall and lanky hairy creature with fangs as long as an arm, others that it was a giant spider.

The White Witch, because of her benevolent nature, had once been at war with the creature, revolted by its evil character. The Beast wouldn’t have minded a taste of the Witch either, so they battled for many centuries. Despite all the fighting, neither the Witch nor the Beast were able to best the other, so they made a pact: the Witch would stop trying to chase the Sacred Beast from her forest, and the latter would stop luring people with its melody.

However, if any fool ventured inside the cave for any reason, the Beast would be in its right to dispose of the intruder as it willed.

And if any bigger fool—like a certain king, for example—wanted to willingly sacrifice their daughter to it, then they were most welcome to do so.

Assuntina grabbed her father’s leg. “Please Father, have mercy!” she cried.

But the king’s judgment was clouded. He shook his weeping daughter off and stormed out of the castle.

The Mist Forest was only an hour ride from his castle, and the king did not take too long to find the dreadful grotto.

He stood in font of its ominous mouth, the eerie sounds flowing out from deep into the cave reminding him of a heartbeat.

In front of him, at the very edge of the entrance, sat a small, rough rock altar. The king put his baby daughter on it and properly looked into her eyes for the first time. She was staring at him silently, wonder in her eyes, as if trying to guess what he would do next. She looked like her mother.

All the anger he had been feeling until now instantly disappeared, and he realised what a grave mistake he had made. He had sworn an oath with his whole kingdom at stake, and he had to keep it—or face the consequences.

He unsheathed his sword and raised it above his head.

“Oh, Lord!” the king yelled to the heavens, “I swore an oath to You, to sacrifice my child to the Sacred Beast. But I realise the evil of those words now.” He paused, hesitant. “If You are against it, please send me a sign… and I shall understand that this oath is void.”

As soon as he said the words, lighting struck his sword, somehow severing the blade but leaving his body intact.

Relief washed over the king, and he knelt, sobbing. “Thank you, Lord.” He grabbed his crying daughter and held her tight against his chest. “Oh, what have I done? Forgive me, daughter.” As he soothed her against the altar, the king could have sworn he heard a sigh coming from the depth of the Cave.

Growing up, Fantaghiro, third daughter of the king of Regalia, was quite a handful.

She was a handful for her sisters, whose dolls she often broke for sport.

She was a handful for her nurse, for Fantaghiro’s many mischiefs had a very bad effect on her nerves.

She was a handful for her instructor, because she questioned everything—and a proper lady did not question _anything_.

And last, she was a handful for her father, though now he loved her as a father should love his child, she was not what a daughter was supposed to be: meek and obedient.

When he was not out warring, her father often sent her down the gardens’ well as a penance for her wilderness, where she would spend the night deprived of dinner. Somehow, little Fantaghiro was not the least bothered by such punishment. She had fun with her little friend, a white rat that lived at the bottom of the well. Fantaghiro would tell it about how she would fight alongside her father when she grew up, brandishing a stick and fighting an invisible foe, while the rat would recount stories about the world outside the castle, from when it was young before it had decided to live down the well.

Fantaghiro did not find it strange that the rat could talk, nor did she question the fact that a rodent that had seen so much of the world would decide to settle down in a dark and dingy well.

As she grew to be a young woman, Fantaghiro did not abandon her wild ways, but instead of being sent down the well, she was detained in her chambers, thus forgetting all about her faithful rat friend.

Fantaghiro was an outdoors person, therefore the prospect of spending hours indoors had brought the spark of an idea. She had sneaked out a bunch of books from the royal library and spent her time of confinement to learn how to read—which was strictly forbidden for women. Once she mastered it, she revelled in tales of valiant knights and epic battles.

Which naturally lead her to want to learn more about fighting. She began sneaking in the training grounds, observing newly appointed knights and squires. They did a lot of heavy lifting, something Fantaghiro was not sure she would be able to reproduce, but she did her best, and after months of following the training regimen with any material she could scavenge around the castle, she felt a lot stronger and swift on her feet.

“If only I could wear trousers,” she said to her sisters one day out of frustration as they were strolling around the castle. “Those frilly dresses are so impractical!”

Carolina gasped. “And look like a man? Are you out of you mind?”

“So? I read in a book that in some countries—"

“You read? You can’t read, it’s forbidden!”

“And improper,” added Assuntina matter-of-factly. “A woman who reads is a woman who cannot humble herself before the natural superiority of men.”

“Superiority?” asked Fantaghiro with venom in her voice. “And how so?”

Assuntina stopped mid-tracks and sighed.

“This is an argument we already had a thousand times, but if you cannot understand that no matter what you do, you will never be as strong or as intelligent as a man, there is nothing I can do.”

“My poor Tina, if you were not so stubborn, you would have realised that you are twice as intelligent as any man at court.”

Assuntina smiled. “That is nice of you to say, even though it is untrue.”

Fantaghiro just rolled and eyes and grunted as an answer.

Carolina put her hands on Fantaghiro’s shoulders and began stroking her long black curls. “It’s such a shame you are so inclined to be manly,” she said with a note of regret in her voice. “You are so pretty, such a waste...”

“Not as pretty as you. You are, after all, the most beautiful woman in the kingdom.” Carolina was indeed, of rare beauty. In a land where dark eyes and hair like Fantaghiro’s were more than common, Carolina was as fair as the moonlight, hair touched by the sun and eyes green like emeralds. Her features were perfect, her smile without the slightest flaw.

She was also incredibly vain.

Carolina patted her sister’s cheek. “That goes without saying, love,” she said. Fantaghiro was not the least offended, because she knew her sister was without any cruelty in her heart. She just stated a fact she knew was true.

“I heard Father is coming back tomorrow,” said Fantaghiro. “He had stayed out longer than usual this time.”

“I heard he made a detour to the kingdom of Assabel before heading back,” said Assuntina. “They are discussing the possibility of an alliance.”

“And end the war? Not what I had hoped,” said Fantaghiro.

“You cannot be serious,” Assuntina said gravely. “War is something atrocious. It may be necessary to avoid a greater evil, but no one should ever wish for it.”

“But I read so many great stories,” said Fantaghiro with sudden passion. “Courageous knights fighting grand battles in such fashion! Not like those romance books.”

“Romance books?” asked Carolina with sudden interest.

“Yes, stories about gentlemen courting young ladies and such,” said Fantaghiro with barely hidden disgust. “What a mistake I did that day when I picked that book...”

“Oh, I do wish I had learned how to read!” said Carolina with envy.

“Now, now,” said Assuntina, “No gentleman would want to marry a woman who can read. Better live the romance than read about it, I say.”

Carolina put her hand on her chest, eyes wide. “You are so right, dear sister. Lord, I almost let myself be influenced by Fantaghiro!”

“That would have done you good, for once,” retorted Fantaghiro.

The next day, their father called upon his daughters for an audience in front of his court.

“I don’t like this one bit,” whispered Fanraghiro to Assuntina as they were escorted to the throne room. “It can’t be good that he is calling on us like this.”

Carolina was a step behind, quivering with apprehension. She had always been afraid of their father’s reprimands and would weep if he raised his voice at her. “Do you think he will disgrace us?” she whimpered.

“Get a hold of yourself!” Fantaghiro scolded her. “And don’t you dare cry like last time. You are not a little girl anymore, and you know he likes it when you weep.”

“Don’t assume such a thing,” said Assuntina. “Father has his faults, but wickedness is not one of them.”

Fantaghiro shrugged. “If you say so.”

Little did Fantaghiro know at that time that the news her father bore would bring drastic changes to her daily life.

“My good people,” said the king solemnly, “as you must have heard, I went to the kingdom of Assabel in order to secure an alliance.

“As I am now getting older, I decided that I would no longer lead my troops to battle myself.”

Murmurs raised from the assembly. The king stopped them short with a sweep of his hand. “My good general will have the privilege of commanding my army for the time being.”

The general, who was sitting on the side, smiled smugly and nodded, clearly happy with the situation.

“But,” continued the king, “this is only a temporary solution. Our kingdom is in need of a strong, young leader. Leaders, to be more precise.” The king was smiling now, obviously happy by whatever he was going to announce. Fantaghiro did not like it one bit.

“During my stay in Assabel, I have received for my daughters proposals of marriage from their three youngest princes. Once they are married, our kingdoms will join forces and the princes will take the lead of Regalia’s armies. This shall ensure our victory over our enemy.”

The king turned towards his daughters. “The princes shall come to Regalia in a few weeks’ time to make your acquaintance. In the meantime, they send these gifts as a gesture of goodwill.” He clapped his hands, and three squires came into the throne room holding velvet cushions.

As they came closer, Fantaghiro saw that on each cushion sat three identical sets of the most extravagant jewellery she had ever set her eyes on. _How original_ , she thought. She glanced at her sisters, seeing to her dismay that they seemed quite happy by the news—and the parures.

“Father,” declared Assuntina as she took the ring from the pillow presented to her, “a man who is capable of sending such a gift to his future bride is a guarantee of prosperity and serenity for our kingdom.” She slipped the jewel on her ring finger. “I am ready to obey.”

The king looked very satisfied. He turned towards Carolina who, same as her sister, put her ring on. “Same as I, Father,” she said. “After all, if a man can send me such a jewel even though we have never met, what will he offer me once he sees my beauty?”

Fantaghiro was appalled. Her sisters were ready to be thrown at men they had never met just because of riches. She refused to take the ring sitting in front of her.

The servant holding the cushion was beginning to be nervous by her inaction. “My lady,” he whispered as discreetly as possible. Fantaghiro ignored the poor man long enough for her father to notice.

“Fantaghiro?” he asked, voice heavy with exasperation. “Why are you not taking the ring?”

“I refuse to marry some random prince from Assabel.”

The king rose from his throne. “Do not disobey me on this, child.” His tone was enough to raise Fantaghiro’s hairs on her neck. Slowly, she took the ring, contemplating it like a jeweller checking for flaws in the stone. She did not put it on her ring finger. “No one shall ever buy me... Or sell me,” she said while looking at her father right in the eye.

The king’s face became crimson with fury. “Out of my sight!” he boomed, finger pointed towards his daughter. “I shall not see nor hear you until the three princes arrive!”

Stung by his words, Fantaghiro recoiled slightly before bowing. “I shall be happy to oblige,” she retorted in the cheekiest tone she could muster, before storming out of the throne room.

She needed to vent her anger and frustration, or she would explode right there and then.

Without thinking, she rushed towards the training grounds and grabbed a sword from a squire standing idle to the side while watching his fellows training.

“Y-your majesty!” he cried out feebly while trying to stop her.

She spun around and threatened him with the sword. “Do not take one more step, or I swear I will cut you down,” she hissed.

The squire left her alone, under the stares of bewildered knights.

Sword still in hand, Fantaghiro ran to the stables to grab a horse and galloped out of the castle towards the Mist Forest.


	2. Chapter 2

Fantaghiro had been galloping fast and hard, but the harsh wind whipping her face and the soreness of her taut legs’ muscles did little to appease her anger. She bolted across vast meadows, her long dress beating against her mount's flank, giving her the exhilarating feeling that she was riding a bird.

Fantaghiro's frenzied racing was cut down in its tracks as she reached the edge of the forest. With a grunt of frustration, she ventured into the thick grove, manoeuvring the horse between the trees. Despite its name, the Mist Forest was far from being misty or sinister, and the cloudless sky from that day brought out a glow that was pleasant to Fantaghiro's eye and began to slightly abate her fury. She did not expect a branch to fall on her, punching her stomach brutally and lifting her from her oblivious mount.

"Wait! Come back here, you stupid horse!" she yelled as said horse continued to trot away while she was still dangling from the tree. With a grunt, she hauled herself up the branch and crawled nimbly towards the trunk, before climbing down and hitting the ground with a loud thud. Luckily, the horse hadn't gone too far; she could see it drinking contentedly from a nearby pond.

"You dumb creature," Fantaghiro snorted as she made a beeline for the sword dangling from her mount's flank. "I'm sure that you are my father's, and that you are both in this to spite me!"

She unsheathed the blade rather brusquely, making the horse whinny with fright. "I'm not going to use it on you, silly," said Fantaghiro reassuringly, "I just need to blow off some steam." She approached a sturdy oak tree standing nearby, and began slashing as it with all her strength, the loud whacks from the impacts echoing through the silent forest.

"Enough!" an old man's voice growled nearby.

Fantaghiro jerked around, trying to find the source of the noise, but couldn't see anyone. "Who's there?" she said, a frantic edge in her voice. She had been acting on anger, but she now realised she had ventured _alone_ in the Mist Forest, White Witch territory, and home to many kinds of creatures.

"Are you blind?" asked the voice. It sounded ancient, like one of those old people so frail they gave the impression a slight breeze could tear them apart. "I'm right behind you!"

Fantaghiro yelped as a she fell something hard touch her thigh. She spun around but saw nothing. "Taste the fruits of my labour, ungrateful brat!" she heard the voice emanating from the tree itself, but had barely time to register the information before a shower of acorns came crashing on her, making her gasp in pain. She crumpled to the floor and immediately felt a bulging root from underneath her pulling out from the ground and helping her up.

The old oak cackled. "There, there, stand up. You humans are so feeble, you break easier than twigs!"

Vexed, Fantaghiro crossed her arms. "You tried to smother me!"

"And who struck me first, Princess?"

Fantaghiro's expression shifted to surprise. "Oh." She regained composure and bowed to the tree. "I deeply apologise, I didn't mean to cause any harm. I didn't know you were sentient. But..." She strode towards the pond, picking up a stone. "I need to work off a little tension," Fantaghiro said as she flung the pebble into the water. "There, I'm not hurting anyone like this."

She threw a few more stones before hearing a loud "Ouch!" coming from the pond. A big redfish's head emerged from the surface, watching her with angry wet eyes.

"What is wrong with you?" it screamed at her, voice shrill. "Do you want to kill me, huh? That's what you want? Someone wants to eat fish tonight, huh, oh my poor old bones..."

"Oh no, dear fish, this is not my intention, I didn't—"

"You MURDEROUS LEECH! If I were a wolf or a bear, you wouldn't dare, huh!"

Embarrassed, Fantaghiro muttered another quick apology before backing away from the lake, the fish's angry rambling fading with the distance. The princess's anger had faded by then, and as she looked around to find her horse, she realised she still held a large pebble in her hand.

"One last for the road..." she muttered to herself, throwing her hand behind her head. Before she could throw the stone, she heard another grumpy voice coming out of it.

"Don't even _think_ about it!" Fantaghiro almost rolled her eyes. "Now, you'll put me down where you picked me up, got it sweetheart?" the pebble drawled, rather cheekily thought Fantaghiro, considering she was the one in a position of power. But well, she wouldn't have liked to be disturbed so herself, so she obliged.

"Of course," she replied with a smile. She went back to the pond, which thankfully had been deserted by the fish since, and found the spot she had been standing on previously.

She gently put the stone back on the ground of the bank, next to a heap of other pebbles she remembered having helped herself from.

"Hum-hum!" the stone grunted. "That's not the exact same spot I was in before."

Fantaghiro adjusted its position a bit. "And now, it that alright?"

"The shade, lass, I want the shade! Now if you leave me in the sun, I will burn like an old hot rock! Which I'm not."

Fantaghiro stood up, clearly annoyed by that old grump of a stone. "Enjoy the sun, then," she said while walking away.

"Yeah, see you in a few thousand years. Youngsters these days..."

Tired, Fantaghiro sat on a nearby rock. "Are you going to complain too?" she asked to her sit with a sigh. "Everything is alive around here..."

"Why are you so surprised? You are not the only one alive," she heard a male voice say. This time, it was not a rock, nor a tree—it was a man on a white horse. He was tall and muscular, with a bright silver armour and spotless white gloves and cloak. He looked around his mid-thirties, but his hair and beard were white like an old man's. Something was off about him, but Fantaghiro couldn't pinpoint what.

"Who are you?" she asked warily, searching for her sword with her eyes. The man made her uneasy.

"You are not really observant," the stranger continued, ignoring Fantaghiro's question. "Life is everywhere, if you know where to look. In all that moves, thinks, or breathes. The woods, the wind, nature..." He unmounted, and went to pat his horse's head, then leaned his head on it, his lazy blue eyes piercing Fantaghiro's own. She was weirdly entranced by that man's speech, like a student eagerly listening to a professor's lecture on their favourite subject—which was completely against Fantaghiro's own nature, since she tended to do as she pleased most of the time.

"You must learn to listen, if you want their help. They do speak to us on rare occasions. But you see, we are considered unpleasant and boring."

As he said that, Fantaghiro began to remember her childhood down the well, and her little furry companion.

The man continued his tirade while pacing. "We are violent, arrogant. Some kings want to be valiant but in the end, are just downright forceful; some young women can be nasty..." he turned towards her with a smirk, "and vent their very human emotions on innocent rocks." As she looked into the stranger's eyes, she could almost see the blue irises glowing like coals. He was not human, even if he tried to appear so by saying "we". 

"Who are you?" Fantaghiro asked once again, now more curious than frightened. "And how do you know about my father?"

The man chuckled. "When that man roars, the sound travels."

"And do you know about me too?"

"Oh yes, I do."

Fantaghiro smiled, defiant. "Tell me what you know."

"You are contrary, impulsive, and make light of everyone, especially of those close to you—"

"That's not true!"

"—and, you have taken to reading, and have already talked to an animal."

Fantaghiro's jaw dropped. "Isn't that true?" asked the man, mischief in his eyes.

"Well—"

"That is hardly the behaviour of a woman. And you are a woman, are you not?"

There it went again, the speech about proper lady behaviour. However, Fantaghiro did not feel the usual male condescendence when he said that.

"Yes, I am a woman, unfortunately," she replied bitterly.

"Why is that unfortunate?" The man seemed genuinely surprised.

Fantaghiro sighed, as if it were obvious. "Because I don't like doing what women are supposed to do. Like sewing, cooking, keeping their mouths shuts, pretending to be stupid just to flatter men, tending to their needs like slaves..."

"Are you sure that's all women do?"

"That's what I have been taught, and that's what I see every day."

The man had been watching the sunset pensively. He turned towards Fantaghiro. "Would you like me to teach you otherwise?"

________

The king of Regalia was in his throne room, doing boring paperwork. He knew he would be doing a lot more now that his general has taken the lead of his armies, and his blood craved the battlefield—though he refused to admit so to himself.

He heard steps getting closer, and happily waited for his visitor to come and give him an excuse to end this tedious task.

It was the general. Somehow, his first thought went to Fantaghiro. "Did you find her?"

"No, you Highness. I have come bearing another kind of news." Pause.

"Well?" pushed the king.

The general hesitated. "It's about your enemy king. He..." Pause.

"Spill it, for God's sake!" the king snarled.

"He died."

"He _died_? How dare he die without warning me first!" barked the king without thinking.

The general's eyebrows lifted almost imperceptibly.

The king pinched the bridge of his nose. "Meh, I must really becoming old for spewing such nonsense."

"No, sire, of course not."

"Stop trying to flatter me. So, anything else to report?"

"No, sire. But surely the death of the enemy king will give us some advantage?" asked the general.

The king banged his fist on his desk. "Where have you been all this time? Don't you know that that the enemy has an heir? And from what I heard recently, quite a remarkable one."

"How so?" asked the general, having the decency to look embarrassed by his ignorance, especially for a man in his position. 

"For one, he is young and strong—a mere twenty-one. His father has sent him abroad from a young age in order to learn from the best strategists and warriors around the world. In addition to that, his two best friends and brothers in arms are strategists of renown, as well as formidable fighters."

The king stood from his desk and came right in front of the general, looking down on him. "Which means that, instead of facing one enemy commander, we are up against three."


	3. Chapter 3

On her way back to the castle, as the last remnants of the sunset met the first stars of the night, Fantaghiro felt more excited than she had in years. The man she had met in the forest—"Call me 'White Knight,'" he had told her—had promised he would teach her the art of combat. _Combat_.

What she had always dreamed of.

She did acquire some strength and swiftness during her self-training, but with a real instructor...

They had promised to meet every day in the forest, at dawn. "I will find you, wherever you are," he had replied when she had asked him where exactly they were supposed to meet.

The princess had no doubt he would be true to his words. After all, the White Knight was not human. She had been wary of him at first, but now, she trusted him completely. If he had wanted to hurt her, he would have already done so—unless he wanted to make one of those shady deals to get her soul as she so often heard in folktales, in which case she would be aware and refuse outright.

"Where have you been?" cried a worried Assuntina when Fantaghiro had finally arrived at the castle. Her sisters had been waiting for her in the main hall. Her father however, true to his words, was nowhere to be seen.

This should have upset her, but she was feeling too elated. "Oh, you know, here and there."

"And look at your clothes!" said Carolina, lifting her sister's tattered skirt. "Have you been playing in the pigsty?"

Fantaghiro tore away from Carolina's grip. "That is none of your business," she snapped. "Now if you will excuse me, I'm going to wash up."

Seeing Carolina's expression, Fantaghiro immediately regretted her harsh tone. "We will talk after I've freshened up," she added to lighten the mood.

Assuntina put a hand on Fantaghiro's arm. "We are just glad you are unharmed."

"Don't worry, dear sister. I'm not a child anymore."

Later in the evening, after Fantaghiro had smuggled some food for herself from the kitchens, she went to her bedroom to find her sisters sitting on their beds, chatting idly. The three princesses had always been sleeping in the same chambers. Assuntina had welcomed baby Carolina with utter joy, the infant bringing life to the dark, gloomy bedroom.

When Fantaghiro came into their lives, her sisters—especially Assuntina, for she remembered well how their father had once tried to harm her—swore to protect the baby girl forever. They discovered soon enough that Fantaghiro needed little protecting, or maybe only from her own recklessness.

Assuntina and Carolina had always thought that their youngest sister would one day claim her own room, the same way she tried to claim what little independence she could in this very patriarchal society. Little did they know that, despite the harsh words and sometimes brutish behaviour, Fantaghiro loved them fiercely, and that their presence was an anchor to her free spirit, something that gave her warmth and reassurance.

She would admit that to her sisters only when hell had frozen over. 

Fantaghiro crashed on her bed. "So exhausted..."

Carolina got up and sat next to her. "So? What did you do after you ran away? Father was so angry..."

"I don't care about what he thinks."

Assuntina lifted an eyebrow. "If you say so. However, I can say that he was worried, especially after he learned about your little...blunder at the training grounds." Fantaghiro humphed as an answer.

"And he did send a few men to look after you."

"But you know that he won't see me until the princes from Assabel come visit."

"No, he won't," said Assuntina, smiling knowingly. "He is stubborn. But as we say, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

Fantaghiro sat up. "Well, from tomorrow, no one will be seeing much of me anyway."

"What do you mean?" asked Carolina.

"I met this man..." Fantaghiro told them all about her encounter in the forest with the White Knight.

"Fantaghiro, that is so unwise!" scolded Assuntina. "That man could have evil intentions! What if he plans to... to take your virtue?"

The idea seemed so ludicrous that Fantaghiro burst out laughing. "Trust me, sister, that man is trustworthy, I feel it deep in my bones. He had plenty of opportunities when we were alone in the forest, so I think if he had such intentions, he would have acted upon them at that time. Besides..." She put a finger to her lips. "He is not human."

Her sisters gasped in horror. "You cannot be seriously thinking about meeting that man again, or whatever he may be!" exclaimed Assuntina.

"He could try to take your soul!" added Carolina. "Or worse, make you his undying slave and trap you in his ethereal realm forever!"

"I can't say I didn't think about," admitted Fantaghiro. "But, like I said before, I am sure his intentions are noble. I can't explain why, I just know it." She felt it in her heart, but her mind still hoped her feelings were not mistaken, lest she pay dearly.

"That aside," said Carolina, "why in heaven are you learning how to fight? I know you always had your head filled with ludicrously masculine ideas, but do you really think Father is going to let you handle a sword, or fight an opponent?"

"I am afraid Carolina is right," added Assuntina. "He would never let you indulge in combat, may it be in the battlefield, or in a mock-battle."

Fantaghiro pouted. "I know that much. But it will be my—our—little secret. I don't care if I train with a stick in the meadows. At least, It would be part of me, and that would be something no man could ever take away."

"Knowledge," said Assuntina pointedly.

"Exactly."

Carolina raised her eyebrows. "Knowledge, independence, power... what's the use when you can marry a prince of Assabel?" She hugged a pillow dreamily. "Oh, how I wish for him to be handsome!"

"And wise, sister, and wise," added Assuntina, a tint of reproach in her voice. "One man can be a feast for the eye, as well as he can be boorish, violent and stupid."

Fantaghiro gasped, feigning great shock by placing a hand on her chest. "Am I hearing right? Assuntina berating men!"

The eldest princess blushed furiously. "No! I meant, even though men are superior, some—"

"Lo and behold!" cut Fantaghiro, who had stood on top of the bed, raising her hand to the sky dramatically. "My wretched sister has grown some brains!" she exclaimed, laughter in her voice.

Assuntina threw a pillow at Fantaghiro. It made the latter laugh harder. "I didn't know you could be so vile. I shall take my revenge!" She jumped on her sister, pinning her on the bed by sitting on her knees while she proceeded to tickle her feet.

"Carolina, come and restrain her arms, she is going to escape!" grunted Fantaghiro, as Assuntina wriggled under her weight, shook by hysterical fits of laughter. While Fantaghiro's body was more toned, she was lanky, and her sister's height and weight—for she was thick-boned—put a strain on her strength. She really needed that training. 

Carolina chuckled, joining her sisters' warm-hearted squabble.

____

When Fantaghiro opened her eyes the next day, she could see the white thread of dawn contrasting with the darkness of the night from her tiny bedroom window. She swore when she realised, while getting ready, that the only clothes in her possession were dresses. How was she going to learn how to fight wearing dresses?

In the intimacy of her bedroom, while she was confined and her sisters were free to roam around, attending whatever duty they had that day, Fantaghiro had worn only her undergarment for her secret training. She imagined the disaster as she would take up footwork, tripping on the hem of her skirt and falling flat on the uneven forest floor.

She shook the idea from her mind, and decided on her dark blue dress, whose skirt was the flattest.

Sneaking out of the castle had been so easy that Fantaghiro swore to herself that—once she had finished her training, of course—she would tell her father the security left much to be desired. 

When she arrived at the edge of the forest, the pink sun rays of dawn were barely showing in the sky, giving her the impression she was standing in front of a grotto.

As she took a few steps inside, she felt smothered by the darkness. She hesitated before going further, looking back behind at the welcoming faint light. The trees, the rocks, and whatever more were alive; the White Knight was not human; so what else could she encounter, lurking in the shadows?

The princess was not aware of the legend of the Cave of the Golden Rose. Her father had forbidden by royal decree that mentioning the cave was now strictly forbidden—he had felt too ashamed of himself and about the dreadful thing he had been about to do.

Would Fantaghiro have gotten into the forest that day, had she known about the Sacred Beast, sitting deep into the Mist Forest, waiting for the rare strayers to be foolish enough to get into its lair and meet their sad end? We will likely never know.

All we know is that she pushed aside her fears and ventured inside.


End file.
